monsters ball
by swallowedminds
Summary: For CastleFanficMonday. Soulmate AU. Meeting AU. They meet in Central Park, pre season one.
1. Chapter 1

**This has a different tone to it then my more recent stories and I'm kinda sorta (okay very much) nervous about it. It's part of a writing exercise that I'm doing. _"Write the emotions you fear the most."_ So I did it. This is also completely unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.**

 **This is a soulmate AU. This is kind where your soulmate can bring you back from the brink of death, cure any illness, whether it'd be mental or physical, heal any wound or injury, etc, so long as your touch them or are near them for a specific amount of time.**

* * *

He never thought immortality would be this hard. From what he's imagined, it's always seemed easy. You live forever, end of story, so to speak.

To become immortal, he had to die several times. And he has. Metaphorically.

He's lost the words, the words that kept the monsters from overcoming his mind, from taking over. It scares him, knowing that at any moment, he could lose control.

Immortality sucks.

It's immortality, right? What else could it be?

He hasn't slept in a week. Or maybe it's been a year. He doesn't really know anymore.

All he knows is that the words stopped coming a long time ago. When the words go, so does his sanity. He hasn't slept, eaten, or been able to socialize. When the words are blocked, everything is, nothing gets through. Neurons stop firing, chemicals mix, creating destruction, setting fires in his head.

Is the room spinning or is he spinning?

The air is too thick, too hot, he can't breathe. His chest starts to close up, or wait, no. It's gaping open, allows the elements to do their damage inside him.

Air. He needs air.

The walls are closing in.

No. no. This is panic. He's having another panic attack.

Opening his eyes, it's dark. Feeling around, he remembers he's in bed. The sheets are sweat soaked, hot, searing his skin.

Checking the time: the clock has a death stare.

1:27am.

He'd gone to bed only thirty minutes ago.

Whenever he takes sleeping pills, he has nightmares. Night terrors. Whatever. They screw with his mind.

It's like death is chasing him every time he closes his eyes. A knife in it's hand, running faster than light, and all he can do is stand and watch, his feet melded to the ground.

When he crawls from his bed, he's still frightened. The dark hasn't been his best of friends lately.

It's been so long since he's been able to sleep, _really_ sleep. He knows he doesn't make any sense, thoughts all jumbled up, making him believe in monsters and immortality. He knows he doesn't make any sense.

But the monsters feel so real. Death is a woman. He _knows_.

From the way she curves her edges to trick you, seducing you into her trap with her allure.

Death is a siren.

What is he saying? These are not the words.

 _Don't feed the monsters._

He needs to get out, clear his head of the dirty thoughts, he needs to _breathe_.

One step at a time clears the monsters away. He'll go for a walk, take only a small jacket to let the cold seep into his bones. Every night it feels like he's dying. He's delirious, hallucinating, spouting nonsense onto the pages.

 _If he could just get some sleep…_

* * *

Run.

Running clears her mind, calms her anger.

It's not fair. It's not right.

Where is the justice?

It's not fair her mother is dead. It's not fair her father is an alcoholic. It's not fair she had to transfer from her dream school to come back home.

It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not _fair_.

Running is the only way she stops from breaking down. She doesn't know how to cope. Her mother would know exactly what to do, would help her through this level of grief and anger, but she's gone.

Her mother is dead and she's never felt so much more alone. Her father was not a drinker and yet, just a week after her mother died, he began buying more and more bottles of the stuff. Stock piling it in the guest room of their apartment.

He still hasn't step foot into their bedroom. She has. She'd gone through her mother's clothes and make up, wanted to feel her again.

Tonight's one of those nights where she couldn't sleep, anger filled her lungs, pumped through her veins. The bed sheets were too confining, the air stifling. The sound of the liquid moving around in bottles was too vivid for her to stay in the apartment. Running helps clear her mind. The essence of her mother so comforting she'd almost convinced herself she was still alive.

She won't go crazy over this. She'll run, run to escape the pain, to clear the clouds of grief that's over taken her mind.

Music in, she tunes out the world. With every slam of her foot against the pavement, an inch of her mind clears. She doesn't want to think. She wants oblivion. Even if it's just for a moment, because a moment in a world where nothing horrible happened to her mother is better than eternity with the agonizing truth that she's dead.

So she runs. And runs. And runs.

Through the streets, through the dark alleys, through the woods.

It's 2am and she's running. Music blasting.

The cold air bites her too exposed skin, but it's invigorating. The cold calms her mind as it rips her skin apart, her fingers freeze over, but she keeps going.

She runs past a man. He's got his head down and is walking underneath a street light with both hands shoved in his coat pockets.

When she runs past him, feet popping off the ground one at a time, she looks back at him briefly to find him staring directly at her. Paying him no mind, she continues running up a hill where there are no lights.

Something makes her turn around again to see the man, but his face is one of horror. He's waving his hands frantically as if he's trying to get her attention, but before she has time to process it, she's falling.

Time seems to slow or maybe she's flying. Flying through the frigid air, fleeing her problems, the world. But then she feels a razor sharp pain in her neck before everything goes black.

* * *

It was an angel. A goddess. Her face was pure beauty, her skin so milky white, he was hypnotized.

He's never seen anyone run so fast in his life, but he'd caught a glimpse of her face when she turned back to him with loose tendrils of hair flying against the wind.

She was heading the direction he'd came from, straight up the hill where a large mixture of water and mud had yet to freeze over from the bitter December air.

If he doesn't stop her, she could get hurt. He doesn't even know her and yet the thought of her getting hurt has worry flooding his being. Pain encompassing her will also hurt him.

How is it he feels this way?

Racing up the hill, he finds her face first on the ground, clothes covered in mud.

Kneeling beside her frail body he takes two fingers and lays them against her neck.

Nothing.

No pulse.

Storm clouds form in his eyes, but he ignores them and takes a deep breath, calms the panic flooding his chest. He has to save her, he needs to save her. It's unexplainable how desperate he is for her to live. He's never seen her before in his life and yet she feels so familiar.

He checks again for a pulse.

It's there.

It's faint, but it's there.

The skin of her face is pale when he turns her over, eyes closed, and breathing so shallow he has to hold his phone up to her nose for it to fog over.

"Hey, wake up," he shakes her shoulders gently, brow furrowed as he gazes down at her. "Just let me see those gorgeous eyes." A moan rises from her throat and she scrunches her face slightly. Despite the circumstances he finds it adorable and gives her the smallest of smiles. It's been too long since his lips curled this way, it's almost foreign to him now. "Do you want to go to the hospital? I'm gonna call an ambulance." He frantically grabs for his phone, trying to hurry, but she hums, her arms weakly flailing in the air which oddly reminds him of his mother.

"Mmm," more moaning, louder this time.

"Okay, okay. Hold on."

Placing one hand under her neck and the other under her legs, he lifts her from the ground.

"At least let me get you out of the cold."

* * *

 ** _Thoughts?_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks everyone who followed this :) This was originally supposed to be a two-shot, but I think it needs one more chapter.**

* * *

She comes to for a minute in the cab, her eyes unfocused, she stumbles into the cab and rests her head back against the seat. When he slides in to the other side, she's out cold again, but not alert long enough for him to ask her where she lives.

There's no point in lying; he's been staring at her non-stop since he carried her out of the park. It's something about her that draws him in, like a moth to a flame. His eyes are glued to her face, and his hand has been rubbing slow circles on the inside of her wrist since he sat her down.

"How long have you been together?" the cab driver supplies, glancing up at him from the rearview mirror, an admirable smile on his face.

"Um, I'm not sure." Shrugging, he turns his gaze back to the unconscious woman. "Feels like it's been forever."

"Well, you make a beautiful couple."

Placing an arm around her shoulders, he pulls her to lean her head on his shoulder, and begins delicately moving the stray strands of hair from her face. With cheekbones so prominent, he wonders if she's a model. Certainly she has the body for it.

When the cab pulls up at his place, he actually looks forward to carrying her up to his apartment, as weird as that sounds. But the longer he's with her, the better he feels. He can't even remember why he was out walking in the first place. Inside his mind is quiet for the first time in weeks; no more monsters dancing around, twirling and jumbling his thoughts all about.

A clear and straight path is beginning to form, no obstacles in his way.

She weighs almost nothing, her body is thin, practically just skin and bones. The elevator ride is quiet, too late, or too early in the morning for people to be awake and about the apartment building. His neighbor is an aspiring artist, she's always redecorating her place, setting old chairs and couches in the hall to toss them out. Before she got rid of them, she would let him have anything he wanted in exchange for an advanced copy of his first book.

There's a chair outside her door when he steps off the elevator, the woman still secured against his chest. Sitting her down on the chair, he fishes his keys from his pocket and opens his apartment door.

The woman groans when he lifts her up again and carries her into the apartment.

He lays her down on the couch when her cell phone falls from her pocket, the purple earbuds still attached. His first thought is to call someone from her phone, but he is distracted by the picture on her lock screen.

It's her. It's a picture of her laughing with another woman, with her hair down and arm locked around the other woman's neck. They look so much alike that he could almost convince himself that they were twins, were it not for the fact that the other woman is much older than the one passed out on his couch, but still just as beautiful.

He gets so caught up in staring at the picture that he almost forgets he has to call someone for her. Her parents, siblings. When he swipes right there's a for digit passcode requirement to access her contacts, but the light flickers just a fraction before the screen goes dark and the phone dies before he can try to call anyone. Shit.

She is so going to kick his ass when she wakes up.

* * *

Whenever she's read about dying or seen it in the movies, people are always talking about a white light at the end of the tunnel. They're close. There's still a tunnel, but it's a blue light at the end, with golden flying around inside, rising up until they disappear. The light is kind of like a cerulean, sapphire color that emits warmth and safety. She just knew that letting herself be absorbed by it would grant her the peace she's been yearning for since her mother was killed. But there was something else there too, something pulling her back to the land of the living. It hurts, feels like she's being ripped away from her family, kidnapped. She doesn't want to go back, her mother, her mother is here. They can finally be together again and this hole she feels inside can be full once again.

Tears rim her eyes as she wakes. They sting as they fall one by one, silently from each eye before she even opens them. She's never felt more at home, more at peace than that and now that's she's coming to, the world feels much colder; she feels so small in this giant, frail world..

The memory fades quickly as her eyes flicker open and the tears from being ripped away from death become tears of pain. The back of her skull feels like it's been cracked open, her wrist like it's been hacked from her body. What the hell happened?

The memory of heaven is gone completely when she sits up and checks her surroundings. Panic flares up in her chest, her heart constricting from fear.

"Don't freak out!" Someone yells to the side of her. "You had a nasty fall and said you didn't want to go to the emergency room so I brought you here because you couldn't stay awake enough to tell me your address. I know your head must be killing you so I left you an ice pack right there," he rambles, pointing to the white bag sitting on the coffee table. "I also have some aspirin and an ace bandage and I put your phone on the charger 'cause it died and here you can use mine." Holding his cell phone out for her in the palm of his hand, sweat begins to bead on his forehead. "Please, you're welcome to stay and shower or whatever. It's just us here and I'll even leave if that makes you more comfortable; please use anything, it's all at your disposal."

After he finishes blathering, he stands there staring directly at her, or rather, _into_ her. 'Adorable' is the first thought that comes to her mind before she realizes she's sitting on the couch of a complete stranger with no recollection of how she got here. Of course she shouldn't be thinking about how cute he looks because he's nervous or maybe even scared. Even though she's in a stranger's home, he _brought_ a stranger home.

"Relax, I'm not gonna kick your ass or anything."

Picking up the ice pack with her uninjured arm, she smooshes it against the back of her skull; the relief builds slowly, the ice is numbing the pain, making it just a dull thud at the back of her mind.

"But I would love that ace bandage."

"Got it."

He scurries away quickly and she takes a moment to herself to breathe. If he wanted to kill her, surely he would've done it by now? He doesn't look like he's even capable of hurting someone like that, with his rosy cheeks, and boyish face. Although, looks can be deceiving.

She's adjusting the way she's sitting on the couch when she notices she's half covered in dry mud: the back of her arms, her entire left side, and even in her hair. Standing up from the couch her head instantly gets fuzzy, her eyesight cloudy with disorientation.

Closing her eyes to try to regain her balance , she doesn't see when he returns to the room, just hears the concern in his voice when he says, "Hey, you shouldn't be standing." Warm hands curl around her arm and waist until she's sitting back on the couch. He squats down in front of her, their bodies almost level because is his height

"I'm getting mud all over your couch," she murmurs, grimacing from the pain still lingering in the back of her head.

"Couches can be cleaned." He lays a gentle palm upon her cheek, forcing her eyes to lock with his. "Can you see me?" His gaze is so serious that she loses her voice, afraid to break whatever spell has been cast between them. Nodding, she sucks her lip between her teeth, chills racing down her spine.

He raises a brow. "Clearly?"

It suddenly becomes hard to swallow and her mouth just sits there, slightly open, and without conscious agency her tongue darts out at that exact moment, pink and wet, to dampen her chapped lips.

She watches his eyes follow the slow movement of her tongue and then _he's_ the one swallowing, his grip on her arm tightening just a fraction. Suddenly, all she can do is stare at his mouth and it barely registers when they get closer to her own, their faces mere inches apart, and _mmm_. His breath is warm, smells like freshly baked apples, and soon she's swaying, dizzy from the magnetism between them. The pain in her head is forgotten or maybe it's just gone, but she can't even focus on it, too absorbed in the warmth and peace she feels wrapped up in a stranger's arms.

Flicking her eyes up from his mouth she notices the beautiful color of his eyes for the first time and she can't look away.

Blue.


	3. Chapter 3

**So I know I said one more chapter but this is has morphed into something else from what I imagined. How about I tell you when it's the actual last chapter? Yes?**

* * *

She's not in much of a panic anymore. In fact, she's overwhelmed with how much she already trusts this strange man, even though all the evidence is telling her he could possibly be a sociopath and to get the hell out.

He's good looking. Seemingly older than her by just a few years, he wears life experience in the features of his face. And yet despite that, or maybe even because of that, a kindness shines through that amazes her. He exudes a trustworthiness that she knows has no basis in objective criteria.

 _Home_. The thought comes unbidden to her mind and shocks her. Ever since her mother died and her father fell into alcohol, she had stopped believing in better times and love and hope. Motivation has been sucked from her bones and so she just wanders. A wandering soul searching for its missing piece. She hasn't thought of "home" since that cold night nearly a year ago.

"I have, um, some spare clothes. If you wanna shower," he says, voice trembling, but his eyes never leaving hers.

"Okay."

"And some aspirin. For your head. After, I'll put the ace bandage on for you."

"Sounds like a plan."

He's nervous. His hands are shaking as he speaks, as if _he's_ afraid of _her_ , when really it should be the other way around.

The man leads her down a hall to a small bathroom in the back of the apartment, across the hall from his bedroom, where the door is open and she glances inside without him noticing.

"I'll leave some clothes for you when you get out," he says while she clutches the doorknob. "In my room," he gestures. "Across the hall."

Bowing her head she says thank you before closing the door.

* * *

He's not really sure how long he stands in the hallway outside the bathroom door after it's closed in his face, but long enough for him to smell his shampoo wafting up from under the door. Thoughts of her lathering up, smelling like him are beginning to override his mind. _Sexy_.

Taking a step back, he exhales, realizing he needs to get those clothes he promised her and stop thinking about her in such a graphic way. They don't even know each other.

Some sweatpants will probably work best and maybe one of his old batman shirts he can't fit anymore from his freshman year of college. Her frame is small, he knows from when he carried her up to his apartment, so everything he owns will definitely drown her, but hopefully she'll be comfortable in them.

While he waits for her to finish in the shower he starts to clean up and put things away, noticing for the first time that his place is…not in the cleanest of conditions. Not having slept for a week has caused him to let himself and his home get out of shape. Food, empty candy wrappers, and chip bags all over his living room. There are dishes stacked high in the sink, empty boxes of cereal sitting out on the counters, and when is the last time he did laundry? The hamper is inside the bathroom and he can only imagine how piled his clothes are. Boxers thrown askew, socks stuffed in every crack and crevice. All of this happened within two weeks. How does a person get this messy? Nothing like giving off the impression he's a dirty psycho who doesn't know how to take care of himself.

He sprays a little bit of air freshener when he hears the shower stop. Running his hands through his hair, he begins to wonder why he's so nervous. All he wants to do is impress her and he doesn't know _why_. It's not as if she's going to be staying here or they're going to start dating. They don't know each other. All he did was save her life and now they can both be on their ways.

 _Except_.

A part of him _does_ feel like he knows her. It's some part of his heart reaching out for her, a part he thought was long dead. After Kyra left him, he never thought he'd ever feel this way again.

What is it that he feels for this stranger anyway? It can't possibly be what he thinks it is. He's just deeply intrigued by her. Ever since she ran past him, nothing's been the same. Something he's yet to identify is currently in control of his heart strings, making him feel things that aren't be plausible. But he can't deny that the misery and panic that initially drove him out into the cold this evening receded the moment he caught her eyes as she turned back to look at him.

Obviously, this isn't something either of them is likely to forget. Both of their lives have been altered in such a way that they won't be able to go a day without thinking about "the man who saved my life" or "the woman who almost died right in front of me." This night is going to become a flashbulb memory for the both of them and he's certain he won't be able to move on without at least getting to know this woman first. If they run into each other randomly on the street (again), he wants to be able to say hi, instead of an awkward, silent, brush by like they do in the movies.

When he's tying up a trash bag he glances up when he hears the floorboard creek and catches her tiptoeing across the hall to the bedroom. Even with the distance between them he can see how deeply she blushes when she's caught. It starts from her chest and rises, the tip of her nose redder than the rest of her face. Despite her embarrassment she doesn't rush to his bedroom instead she holds his gaze and neither of them seem eager to look away.

Water is dripping rhythmically from the wet strands of her hair onto the hall floor. The stark white of the towel makes her skin look tan, warm and soft as the water trickles down the length of her. He can't help but stare, she captures him, wraps him in her spell with every breath she takes. It's crazy, absolutely one hundred percent senseless and irrational, but he feels like he knows this woman, as if they've met before today. And he trusts her wholeheartedly, with his life, his apartment, his heart.

And it scares the living shit out of him.

This instantaneous connection they have is stronger than he's ever had with anyone. He and Kyra broke up four months ago and he still thinks about her, still longs for her in his bed and in his heart. But theirs was a love born of comfort and familiarity, without any of the spark he's feeling now. This majestic beauty who's in his apartment, this supernatural goddess of a woman, has him double thinking everything he knows about love.

If _this_ is how it's supposed to feel in the beginning, then he's never experienced like before and if what he and this woman have happens to go further than just this coincidental night then oh, yes, he wants to risk is all with her, pour everything he has into her, dive in with her, see where this spark leads them.

But for now he has to convince her to just stay the night, give them a chance to explore this chemistry they've stirred up.

* * *

She's putting on the clothes he left out for her when she feels it; a shift in the air, a change in the chemical responses of her brain. Sliding her legs into the sweatpants is much more alluring than it was a second ago. Thoughts of their legs sliding against one another flood her mind, soft like feathers, smooth like silk. Oh, and from the way his clothes smell, his skin will be delectable, his breath warm on her flesh, soothing and pleasuring her to no end.

It takes her longer than normal to get dressed because she's too lost in the daydream of him and how good he could make her feel. Slipping her arms through his t-shirt is like getting a backwards hug, but there are no strong, warm arms that wrap around her, and the disappointment she feels confuses her just as much as it upsets her. She wants him here, but can't focus her mind around why.

Why does she trust him? Because he was a good person and did the right thing when he saw her fall? Or is it something else, something deeper, something not as superficial? She wants to bang her head against the wall to rid herself of these nonsensical emotions she's feeling. How is it that just being here, being in his presence has her feeling more hopeful about life? Those dark shadows lurking around every corner of her mind are brightened, revealing that there are no monsters conspiring to kill her slowly.

The grief she feels over her mother isn't as powerful; it's dulled, just a small hole in her chest rather than the shredded, bloody mess it usually is. And her father. She feels optimistic, like he's not going to be an alcoholic forever. She can help get him past it.

It's weird and frightening and makes her want to run and hide. Who is this man? Where did he come from? Why does he make her feel like the world can be beautiful and safe again?

She doesn't have a brush so she sweeps her hair up in a bun to keep the wetness out of her face.. She doesn't linger in his bedroom even though the paranoid part of her is begging to snoop. But she takes a deep breath, slips her feet into a pair of oversized green, fuzzy socks and walks back out to the living room, where he's waiting.

She's not sure what it was she was expecting, but the smell of coffee is prominent as soon as she steps out of the room. If he's making coffee, then he must want her to stay, even if it's for a little while.

When she pokes her head out from the bedroom she can see him jotting things down in a little notepad. Tiptoeing forward, a part of the floorboard squeaks; he doesn't hear it, but when she takes another cautious step, the floors groan as if the building is old and needs some repairs.

He looks up then, guiltily puts the moleskin away in his back pocket after standing up from the couch. She takes a deep breath, prepares herself to ask what his angle is, why he's being so nice, why the hell she should trust him, but when she's close enough to see his expression, her heart melts at the sincerity of his smile, the honesty in his eyes.

"Hey," he greets, voice low and smooth, and it flows through her, under her skin, coursing through her veins, and she's suddenly breathless from the overwhelming sensation.

"He-hi. Umm, sorry, you just looked so hard at work there," she gestures to his back pocket. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"Trust me," he takes a step closer to her, lays a gentle palm on her wrist. "You're no disruption."

Whatever pain she felt in her wrist is long gone, and she isn't sure it's because he's touched her or if her endorphins have finally kicked in.

She's vaguely aware of his voice, his lips moving, but she's too busy swimming through the blue of his eyes to register it.

The man tilts his head, his brows shooting up. "Hmm?"

"Oh! What did you say? Sorry," she tries to laugh off, but it comes out a nervous, jittery mess.

"How's it feel?" She watches his lips form the words. So majestic and alluring and God, what is happening to her?

"It aches," she exhales, eyes darting up to meet his. "It aches."


End file.
